Another Arnold
by SparrowWriter
Summary: Arnold's parents never died - he never went to live in the boarding house, nor live in the neighbourhood with which we've become so familiar. How will PS 118 have changed? And most importantly...how will Arnold have changed? (Chapter 5 now posted!)
1. Another Arnold

"Wake up, Arnold." The boy turned, eyes closed deliberately, trying to pretend - to believe - that he was still asleep. "You're getting too old for this, Arnold," teased the same voice, going along in a gentle murmur. "At nine, I'd suppose you could at least take responsibility for waking up in the morning."  
  
With a decidedly fake yawn, Arnold sat up and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. "It's much too early to get up, Mother," he moaned, with an abstract look toward his alarm clock. "Only 7! Much too early for summer," he said with a grumble, trying to go back to sleep.  
  
"You're right," the woman responded evenly, "but today was your first day of school."  
  
"Was?" Arnold shot out of bed, eyes now wide open. "Don't you mean is?"  
  
"Was," she clarified with a grin, "if you don't hurry already. School starts at seven-thirty, and with a ten minute drive…" Her voice faded, but Arnold had already begun to get dressed, frantic beyond belief. "Aha. That's better," his mother said approvingly as she walked from the room.  
  
"Sometimes," Arnold muttered to himself, halfway through putting his right shoe on his left foot and correcting the mistake, "I wish I was adopted."  
  
"I heard that!" called his mother from down the hall. "And no, you don't. Goodness knows you'd have gotten stuck with someone like your father's parents." A short, mocking laugh escaped her lips and her husband began to utter a complaint. "Don't bother," she addressed him jovially, "but, you, young man," she continued, now calling to Arnold, "need to finish. Breakfast is ready."  
  
Arnold ran down the hall, just as he firmly placed his hat over his unusually shaped head. "Thanks, Mother," he muttered, hastily devouring a piece of toast and half a glass of orange juice. First surveying himself in the mirror for signs of disarray, he sighed and turned to his parents. "I think I'm ready."  
  
"Are you, now?" his father said curiously, drinking down his second cup of coffee without particular speed. He gave a suspicious glance toward his wife, then focused his eyes on Arnold. "Did she tell you school started at seven thirty?"   
  
"Yes…" Arnold replied uneasily as he eyed the door. "Doesn't it?" he added with a hint of doubt.  
  
"Eight, Arnold," his mother broke in gently, failing to hide a grin. "At least you're up early."  
  
With a look of complete disbelief, Arnold looked at his watch. 7:20. "You mean you got me up at 7 for no reason?" he demanded.  
  
"At least you're up early," she echoed in a singsong voice, handing him a bowl of cereal. "Would you have gotten up at seven otherwise?"  
  
With nothing to say to this, Arnold gave his parents a dark look and glared into his cereal. It was his first day in a new grade, in a new school…and already his parents were tricking him. "Figures," he scoffed to no one in particular, his usual optimism outweighed by weariness.  
  
"Cheer up," his father said, making eye contact with Arnold. "This time it'll work out. We're going to stay here for a long time."  
  
"Sure, Dad," Arnold replied politely as he continued to study his breakfast. With a sharp, meaningful motion, he looked at them and grimaced. "But do you mean it?" His parents were adventurers, taking him anywhere and everywhere and leaving him to start a new life year after year - and sometimes even more often.   
  
Sure, he wasn't exactly going to the depths of the world, but facing the reality he might be in England or France in less than a year was painful. Not to mention his social life - whenever he'd make new friends he'd be moved to find others. If he could stay for more than a year - if he could stay forever - in any new place, it would be all he could desire.  
  
"We'll try," his parents chorused, typically reassuring and halfway honest. Arnold knew as well as they did that if some adventure caught their eyes that he'd be across the world without proper notice. With a sigh, Arnold stood.  
  
"It's nearly eight," he reminded them, drawing up his backpack and turning his grimace into a half-smile. After all, no matter what the circumstances, this was Arnold, determined to be optimistic in the worst situations. Perhaps they weren't lying this time. Perhaps he could call this place his home. "Come on, Mother."  
  
She gave him a warm grin; glad her son was back in a good mood. He was nearly always such, and so when Arnold was plagued with depression it truly worried her. Silently, she and Arnold got into the car and set off toward the school. "So…" she said awkwardly, trying to make conversation, "you'll be in fourth grade now."  
  
Arnold nodded, facing out the window. Already the building - a large structure, one much similar to all his other east coast schools - was looming ever closer. As the car stopped, he focused his eyes on the name printed solidly on a sign outside: PS 118.  
  



	2. A New Student

"We have a new student," the teacher said ominously, giving his students that don't-scare-the-new-kid glare that only a teacher can give. His fourth grade class eagerly giggled and chatted, wondering why and how the odd boy had ended up in front of the class. "His name is Arnold."  
  
Obviously, the glare hadn't worked. A girl in the front row, her blonde hair messily tied up and supported by a large pink bow, began to snicker. "What a weird head," she scoffed, squinting her eyes and focusing on Arnold. "Kind of like a football, isn't it?" The class burst into quiet giggles, forcing Arnold to flush a deep shade of red. He'd always been teased, no matter where he was, but he still couldn't really get used to it.  
  
"Now, Helga!" The teacher was stuttering, as he sometimes did when the class had yet another improper outburst. "That's no way to treat the son of two of the most prestigious archaeologists in the country!"  
  
Evidently, Helga wasn't impressed. "If they're such 'prestigious archaeologists'" - at this, her voice rose to a mocking whine - "then why are they in this neigbourhood? You aren't that old, are you, Mr. Simmons?" More laughter.  
  
A small dark-haired girl with a curved set of glasses framing her tiny eyes began to speak. "But Helga, archaeology is…"  
  
With a sharp glare, Helga stopped the girl mid-sentence. "I didn't ask for a science lesson, Phoebe," she growled.  
  
"Understood," the girl said meekly.  
  
There was a long pause, as if the room had become frozen. Nothing broke the silence but the slow wheezing of a boy in the back and the soft maniacal laughter of another. Mr. Simmons was flustered, new at the job since the last teacher had been driven away by the class. Arnold had a similar reaction, but, used to the turmoil of entering schools mid-year, was quite a bit calmer.   
  
"You may be seated, Arnold," Mr. Simmons mumbled quietly, already weary of the students' defiance. He gestured toward an empty desk in the second row, and Arnold winced. The only available seat was next to Helga. He hesitated, but Mr. Simmons' usually composed glance was on the verge of anger, so Arnold silently moved toward the desk.   
  
Wisely, Helga remained silent for the rest of the session and the teacher brightened considerably, thus plunging into a complicated lesson on something-or-other that no one but Mr. Simmons actually cared about. Even Phoebe, usually a bookworm of sorts, had her attention diverted from the lesson. She became fully focused on the new boy, and with good reason.  
  
Arnold himself was cautiously playing with a piece of paper, half-listening and half transfiguring it into a neatly and strategically folded plane. It was a curious thing to watch - though probably usual for a child of scientists - and all the same new for the students, who were ignorant to most of the world outside their city. But perhaps the thing that amazed Phoebe and the others most was Helga. Helga, silent and equally focused on Arnold, was doing something no one had seen her do before.   
  
She was smiling.  



	3. Helga Pataki

"Helga! Helga Pataki!"  
  
Helga lifted her head amidst a sea of giggles. It wasn't like her, to drift off in class like that. She was strong, straightforward, focused. But something about the new boy… "Yes, Mr. Simmons?" she asked shakily, regaining her composure.   
  
"Are you alive?" More giggles. Though she often forced humiliation onto others, it was a new experience for Helga, and her face grew slightly red.  
  
"As much as someone can be in this dull class," she retorted, still only half restoring her dignity. A few of the kids had stopped chuckling at Helga, instead moving their torment onto Mr. Simmons. Arnold, Helga noticed curiously, was still deep in concentration over his plane, oblivious to the rest of the classroom.  
  
"Just checking." With a quick amused grin, Mr. Simmons returned to the lesson. The gesture annoyed Helga immensely. She aimed to inflict fear, pain, anger…but certainly not amusement. It simply wasn't like her.  
  
Of course, neither was this weird obsession with the new boy. On the subject of Arnold…  
  
"Helga?" With yet another call of her name, Helga quickly came to attention, glad she hadn't gotten too lost in her own mind. Luckily, the voice wasn't that of Mr. Simmons. It was Phoebe. "Helga, you really should pay attention." She gestured toward the board, already crowded with formulas and facts in a blinding white chalk. "There's a test tomorrow."  
  
"I...I am, Phoebe." Helga embarrassedly shuffled her 2 pages of notes, all taken earlier in the week. "I'll get to it." Her eyes refocused on the board, but she couldn't help watching Arnold from the corner of her eye. She inwardly punched herself. Must pay attention. Must forget about some nerdy new kid.   
  
"Yes, Helga," Phoebe responded obediently.   
  
As her pencil absentmindedly scratched at the paper, catching Mr. Simmons' words but not really the content within them, Helga tried to shut off her mind from the world. Thinking really didn't bring her any good, and there was usually little to ponder anyhow. Her parents, eternally captivated by her older sister, usually left Helga to herself, leaving her more responsibility than excitement. Each day, without exception, she would go through the same things, the same thoughts. Life was tedious.  
  
This newest obsession, with the new boy, Arnold, was simply clinging to the hope that things may grow interesting, that she might learn foreign things and emotions. Hope was for people with real lives…for people who knew what they wanted and strived to get it. Helga wanted nothing, loved nothing, and therefore hoped for nothing. She was simply a mindless drone, content to torment others and press on as a mediocre student and human being. "I'm a fool," she scoffed to herself quietly  
  
"No, you aren't," hissed a voice back. Startled, Helga turned to face Arnold, gazing at her with deep concentration. They sat in silence; both curious to what had fueled the other's comment.  
  
With a sharp ring, the bell announced recess, launching the students out of their seats and out the door, as well as gaining a relieved sigh from Mr. Simmons. "Can I show you around the school?" Helga murmured tentatively.  
  
Arnold grinned. "Sure."  



	4. A Small Discussion

"And this is the…playground," Helga said unnecessarily, gesturing toward the large grass area. "Not very elaborate, but" - here, she shrugged - "it seems to be enough for our meager-minded population." At this, she spat empathetically on the concrete. "Come on," she continued, her voice low. "I'll show you the cafeteria." Helga was anxious to leave - being seen showing a new kid around was horrible for her self-image. She couldn't be expected to direct every pitiful soul, could she? Perhaps she could just leave him for the fifth graders. They'd certainly be forever grateful to her for a new student to torment.  
  
"Helga?" Arnold asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Thanks. For helping me, I mean," he continued hastily. "You've really been a lot of help."   
  
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, directing him toward the nearest building. "Don't mention it, Football Head." The name felt comfortable to her, fitting, and her mouth curved into a small grin. Perhaps this was too good an opportunity to leave to the fifth graders. "But don't expect us to become friends or anything," she sneered.  
  
"Oh, never." Was that sarcasm she detected? Helga let it pass. "How long have you lived here?" he went on curiously.  
  
"Forever. Invariably forever." She gave him an odd look. "Why?"  
  
"Oh, nothing." Arnold turned away, apparently deep in thought. "I've always wondered what it be like to stay somewhere forever," he said finally.  
  
"You can take my life," she mumbled.  
  
"What?"   
  
She paused. "Well, you shouldn't take that traveling stuff for granted, you know?" Helga sighed involuntarily. "I'd love to leave here. To leave P.S. 118…Bob and Miriam…"  
  
"You don't like it?" he coaxed.  
  
"Of course I don't like it!" she snapped. "Would you like being stuck in the middle of some city, where everybody knows you and is constantly calling at you, pestering you, making you feel so trapped?" Helga demanded.  
  
"Yes," Arnold whispered meekly. "I think that's exactly what I'd like."  
  
"Well, be careful what you wish for, Football Head." She gave him a penetrating glare. "Sedentary life isn't all it seems."  
  
"And neither is moving around all the time," he countered.  
  
"Well, so what?" Helga continued awkwardly. "I want your life, you want mine. Life's not fair and that's just the way it is. Deal with it."  
  
Arnold winced. "You're a bit pessimistic for a fourth grader, aren't you?"  
  
"It's not being pessimistic," she explained dryly, "it's being realistic. Things don't happen as they should, Football Head, and you've got to learn to accept it." She paused, turning back away. "So do you want to see the cafeteria or not?"  
  
"I think I've seen all I need to." He gave her a quick and curious smile, then wandered into the crowd.  



	5. An Invitation

"There's the new kid," Sid hissed to the boy beside him. Sid, hardly a leader, purposefully hid in the shadow of his companion. It wasn't really that he was shy, nor that he lacked individuality, simply that it seemed to be more of his place, and that it was close enough to the spotlight without being too near. "I don't think he's met you yet, Gerald."  
  
The other boy turned to face Arnold, squinting a little in the afternoon sun. The way the fourth graders had unconsciously swarmed around him was a sure sign that Gerald would launch into one of his famous speeches. Yet he remained silent, at least until the new boy approached. Arnold moved forward, somewhat uneasily, sensing from experience the aura of a popular kid. "I see you've been talking to Helga," Gerald said finally, with a hint of disgust.  
  
"Yes," Arnold replied, eager to be spoken to. "She's actually very nice." A gasp rose from the crowd, and murmurs of disapproval swarmed throughout them. "Something I said?" he suggested weakly.  
  
"Are we talking about the same Helga? Helga Pataki?" He nodded, much to Gerald's dismay. "Well, that's certainly…original," he admitted with a wry grin. "Never heard her called 'nice' before." The rest of the group giggled obediently. Arnold winced, ready for the horrible comment sure to come, that always came at every school in turn… "So, want to go to the baseball game with us after school?"  
  
"What?" Arnold asked incredulously. It was as if he'd been drinking medicine that suddenly tasted like sugar. "Did I hear you correctly?"  
  
"As far as I know," Gerald said hesitantly. "I'm not you, and can't really be sure what you hear." Arnold just looked awestruck. "Well, we always play baseball near the old boarding house, and we might as well have a new audience. Besides, maybe you can join us sometime."   
  
"Join…you," Arnold repeated slowly. "Does that include any form of torture?"  
  
"You've really been spending too much time with Helga," the boy replied with a laugh. The recess bell chimed again, and the classes burst into moans and footsteps as they filed back into their classrooms. "Anyhow, 4 o'clock, at this address…" Gerald quickly tore a piece of notebook paper and scribbled a few numbers. "See you there."  
  
Arnold watched, dumbfounded, as he followed the other students. Were these kids actually trying to befriend him? It was new concept - a new kid was usually the main focus of hate and torment. It could always be some sort of trick… Arnold folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket, his mind full of reflection and suspicion.  



End file.
